People Watching
by QuietLittleVoices
Summary: You work in your coffee shop day to day and nothing new ever happens. Until one day a worn down ex-Army Doctor stumbles in to escape the rain. Or, the SuperWhoLock Coffee Shop AU that no one asked for. Told in 2nd person POV. Destiel, implied Ten/Rose.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: **Okay so I'm super nervous about posting this. It's the first chapter, so there will be more to come! It's also the first part in a 'verse so there's that, too. Anyway, enough with my babbling and on with the show!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

You didn't know it at the time, couldn't have, but when he stumbled into your coffeeshop to get out of the rain one day, looking cold and tired and alone, you're life changed. There were only three other people in the shop when he limped up to the counter with a small, broken smile on his face and placed his order. Coffee, milk, no sugar. Normal, just like him. Blond hair and blue eyes in a kind face.

You smiled and made him his coffee, wishing him a nice day with a joke about the rain. He laughed politely and sat at one of the tables by the window and drank his coffee while watching the rain pour down.

* * *

He came in every Thursday for two months, always alone and always ordering the same thing. You learnt that his name was John, that he was an ex-Army Doctor (though he never said anything about it, you were fairly sure the 'ex' was related to his limp), and that he had horrible luck with women.

Then one day he came in, he wasn't alone, and he was smiling a real, genuine smile that you'd never seen on his face before. Though John wasn't facing his friend, it was clear that the smile was for him. The tall, striking, dark-haired man was visually the opposite of the small, average doctor. But he was grinning quietly, not the glowing smile John had but a smile nonetheless, obviously pleased with himself. John directed them both to the table near the window that he always took and went up to the counter.

"Hey, two coffees this time, please. Usual for me, cream and sugar for him," John said pleasantly.

"Coming right up," you said cheerfully, going about making the coffees while your patron waited. "Who is that you've got with you?" you asked, pouring coffee into one of the mugs and tilting your head towards the taller man.

John laughed. A real, carefree laugh. You hid a smile. "That's my flatmate, Sherlock. We're on our way to a crime scene, so we can't stay long, but I wanted to drop by quickly. Wouldn't want to worry you."

You appreciated that; if he'd missed a week, you would have absolutely worried for his well-being because of how sad he'd been. But now you wouldn't need to worry. He was so obviously happy with whatever new life he'd gotten himself. You didn't even question the 'crime scene' comment. As long as he wasn't the one creating it, then it was fine.

* * *

For the next two months things were wonderful. John would come in every Thursday, usually leaving Sherlock waiting impatiently outside, and you learnt to have their order ready in to-go cups for him.

One week, Sherlock came in with him, and as they were leaving, you hear the taller man ask, "Why Thursdays?"

John's answer was cut off when the door closed behind them.

* * *

You met Sam next. It was a nice day and he came in off the street from an old, black car. He was very tall and looked tired and scruffy, like he hadn't had much time for himself in the past few days.

"Three coffees," he asked, voice thick from lack of sleep due to jet lag if his American accent was any indication. "One mocha lattee, one black, and one with milk and sugar."

"Coming right up." And as you make them you also prepared the regular Thursday morning order for John and Sherlock, whom you knew would be coming in any minute.

You had all five ready, so you moved two (carefully marked in chalk, one with an 's' and the other with a 'c+s' ) off to the side when John walked in. "Order for Sam Winchester," you called, bringing the three coffees (each with very different markings, one with 'm l', one with a zero, and the last with a 'm+s') to the counter and signalling for John to wait a minute. But of course he didn't and instead came up to the counter behind the tall American.

"Sammy, boy!" he called cheerfully, startling the taller man.

Picking up the cardboard drink holder in one hand, he turned to John, who was grinning widely. "Fuck, John, you're worse than Cas, I swear."

John put money down on the counter and scooped up the two drinks that were waiting for him with a quick 'thanks' and a smile. "Military training, Sam. Military training."

Sam laughed as they left the shop together. You noticed that Sherlock was talking to someone in the back of the black car outside. But inside the shop, Sam was saying, "Yeah, well, Cas," and the rest of the sentence was cut off with the door swinging shut behind them. Whatever it was made John laugh as he walked up behind Sherlock and pushed him into the car, following him in. Sam got into the front passenger side and they drove off.

* * *

Everything changed after that. Instead of making two coffees every Thursday morning, you were making five. Usually, John or Sam came in to fetch them. You pieced together from bits and pieces of things they said that their companions weren't as amiable as they were. Sherlock, you were mildly familiar with; cold and distant, but not with John. However, there were also mentions of a Dean, Sam's older brother, and a Cas. You weren't quite sure who Cas was, exactly. He was a friend, obviously, but you couldn't get a grasp on whether or not he was Dean's boyfriend.

Then again, you were also unsure of the true nature of John and Sherlock's relationship, so you decided to just leave it be.

Dean and Cas' relationship was (mostly) cleared up for you one morning when both Sam and John came in to fetch the coffees.

"I just really fucking wish that they could get their act together, y'know?" Sam groaned.

John laughed. "They're just not ready yet, Sam. Dean is... well, Dean is Dean, and Cas is still dealing with personal things."

As the door closed behind them, you hoped that the two in question got their act together, because though you'd only met them briefly, you knew that they would be very happy together.

* * *

It was a Wednesday afternoon when a very cute and in love couple walked in, a man and a woman. The man was very tall and walked like an awkward teenager in the middle of their growth spurt, while the woman was of average height and unconventionally beautifully. He was acting sulky while she dragged him in, laughing.

"We could just meet them at Baker Street," he protested, but for all the act he was putting up, he wasn't trying to pull her out of the shop.

She gave him a mockingly stern look. "We agreed to surprise them here. I recorded the conversation if you'd like me to play it."

His eyes widened. "You didn't."

"You willing to bet on that, Doctor?' she asked coyly.

He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off when they reached the counter. The woman asked for the date, asking you to include the year. You find it an odd request but answer anyway.

"Shit," the woman muttered. "We missed again. Let's go." With that she shoved him out of the shop. "We'll be back tomorrow," she called over her shoulder as the door swung shut behind them.

* * *

They came back just as you were opening the shop the next morning, and they were dressed exactly the same as they had been before. But you were used to a bit of weird, running a public business, and so you let it slide.

"You're here early," you said pleasantly, unlocking the door and letting them into the shop.

The woman shrugged. "We always seem to be early to things. Or late. I'm Rose, by the way."

You introduced yourself with a smile and a handshake. "I take it you're waiting for someone."

"Yeah, wouldn't happen to know a group of strange men who comes in every Thursday?"

A grin started on your face that you just couldn't help when you told her that yes, you do know them. Fairly well, too. "They'll be in by eight. Do you want me to get you anything while you wait?"

They followed you up to the counter. "I'll have a mocha double espresso with whipped cream and he'll have -" she was cut off by the man spouting off his own order.

"A grande salted caramel macciato." He started to repeat the word 'macciato' but Rose fixed him with a _look_ that made you laugh, and made him shut up.

"Coming right up," you said cheerfully, going about making the order. And for the next hour you chat with them idly, and they fill you in on little things about the others. How the black car is a '67 Chevy Impala and how the lot of them are police consultants, though that was something you'd already more or less figured out.

And when the others show up, they all decided to come in for once instead of just sending Sam or John. The scene that followed looked like a joyful reunion, full of laughter and hugs. You gather that the newest pair must travel a lot because they're being asked where they've been and they answer with laughter, naming famous monuments and places you've never heard of (you'll Google them later and come up with no results and be very confused, but at the moment you just feel like the world is a lot bigger than you thought it was but at the same time so much smaller if such a large group of very different people can form and meet in a little coffee shop off an alley).

* * *

You got to know them very well as time wore on, but they didn't know you at all; people talk louder over coffee. You'd always found that an amusing phenomenon, how you could get to know so many people so well without them ever even knowing your name.

You watched as they start coming in on days other than Thursday, though they all continued to show up that specific morning dutifully. Sam, Dean, and Cas tended to come in during the afternoon when things were slow and consumed copious amounts of caffeine, starting with their usual orders but usually all ending up with just black. They would sit there for hours and talk, studying papers they had spread out on the table. Sometimes they asked for pastries or you would go up to your flat, which was right above the shop, and make them a frozen pizza. You watched Dean and Cas inch closer together on their side of the table (they always sat together, opposite Sam) and you got to witness when their hands started to touch under the table when they thought no one could see.

John, Sherlock, Rose, and the man known only as the Doctor occasionally came in with them or met them in the shop those afternoons, but rarely did they come in otherwise.

Six months after John first brought Sherlock in, and two months after the newest additions to the group, they started coming in every single morning. Usually just sending John or Sam in to fetch the 'usual order'.

It was nice. There was a sense of security in the odd, ragtag bunch who were so comfortable with one another that you found reassuring. You felt very connected to them without ever having actually had a conversation with any of them. From some of the jargon tossed around, you learnt that Sam was pre-law years and years ago, practically a lifetime. You find out that Rose was significantly younger than all of them but was never treated as such. So many little details about their lives, but you still hardly knew what they did for a living or why your coffeeshop got to be graced with their infectious presence.

* * *

Come Winter time, you decided to throw a Christmas party. You chose the twentieth and spent an entire night making posters and printing them out. Admiring your handiwork, you taped them up with care on the counter and in the front window to announce the festivities. You advertised the need for a musician and the fact that you'd be handing out free samples of Christmas cookies and coffee, which you also had on sale for the entire season.

The first customer in on the morning you put the signs up is, unsurprisingly, John. He grinned at them and promised you that they'd all be there. That afternoon, when Sam, Dean, and Cas came in with arms full of books and loose papers, you learnt something new about the elder Winchester brother, though it had been something you'd already guessed from all the things you'd heard over the past eleven months.

Cas was the first to see the advertisements, and he turned to you. "You're having a Christmas party here?" he asked.

"Yup. On the twentieth. John said you'd all be here," you answered easily.

He read through the flyer as you went about preparing their coffees and the brothers set up their research table. Today they had enough papers that they needed to bring over a second table for more room. "It says here that you're looking for a musician," he said when you bring the coffees to the counter. He handed you the money before you even told him the price, as they always did, because by that point they've got it memorized just like you.

"I do, yeah. If I can't get one, everyone will be stuck listening to shitty Christmas music on the equally shitty sound system." You put the money into the register and then asked, on a whim, "Know of one?"

"Dean can sing, and play the guitar. He could do it."

You smiled. "Well, I'd really appreciate if you'd ask him for me."

Cas agreed to do so in his usual brisk manner and took the coffees to their table.

* * *

You were elated when, a few days later, Dean came up to you and offered to play during the party. You'd kind of been banking on it, after all. Then after that, you lost track of the days while making your preparations and suddenly the twentieth was upon you.

The shop was closed all day so you could set up. You invited your few real friends to help you and you all made a day of it, all working together to set up the tables with enough space for walk-around room and a small stage. Then you all made the cookies, getting as much flour on yourselves as in the batter. You finished up about an hour before the festivities were supposed to start, so you sent them off to their homes to get changed out of the dirty work clothes they'd been wearing.

You yourself changed into some simple Christmas attire, with black pants, a red shirt, and a green apron. At the last minute, you swung 'round the corner to the seasonal shop and bought a sprig of mistletoe that you hung up off to the side of the entrance.

* * *

People started arriving right away and you greeted them all with a smile. A few couples and pairs of friends got stuck under the mistletoe and exchanged chaste kisses, and in one case a very passionate one that made everyone around laugh and remember the heat of new love.

When the group you'd (secretly) been waiting on arrived, John handed you a little wrapped package that you accepted graciously.

"I didn't get you guys anything!" you exclaimed, putting the package behind the counter.

John smiled. "It's a gift for putting up with us."

You started to smile back but then you noticed that Dean and Cas were standing off from their group talking, Dean with a guitar case in his hand. Looking up, you noticed the small sprig of green you'd put up earlier, hanging above their heads. So of course you called over to them.

Looking up at you, confused, Dean asked, "Is it time for me to play already?"

"No, you idiot, you're under the mistletoe," Sam told him.

Dean's eyes trailed upwards and he noticed what he and Cas were standing under. "Oh." A pause. "Do we have to?"

Rose gave him a look. "Yes, now kiss."

He started to protest, sputtering on about something no one could quite understand, but was cut off when Cas sighed, grabbed the other mans face in his hands, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. It started out awkward and chaste, Dean surprised and Cas fairly obviously inexperienced. But then it settled into something different, something passionate.

Sam coughed awkwardly, breaking their moment. They stepped apart slowly, red rising in both of their faces as they looked anywhere but each other. "Though it's really great that you two seem to be very into that, this isn't the time or place."

"But seriously right after the party, go get a room because your sexual tension is starting to wear everyone's nerves down," Rose piped in.

Dean sputtered for a second, unable to form a coherent response. "Our _what_?"

Rose opened her mouth to respond but John fixed her with a look. "You two've just been on the edge of this for quite some time, and it's gotten to the point where Sam here has admitted to wanting to grab you and knock some sense into you."

"Oh, I am so not a part of this," Sam announced before turning heel and joining you behind the group. The both of you observed the ensuing argument silently. As it wore on you saw Cas's shoulders sag slightly, obviously upset by the things Dean was saying. Not to him but about _them._ "Ah, fuck, Dean," muttered Sam next to you. "I'm gonna have to go fix this, won't I?" It was obviously a rhetorical question, but he was looking at you so you just nodded slowly with what you hoped was an understanding smile.

He shoved himself off where he was leaning against the counter and returned to the fray. "Dean, if you don't shut up right now I can guarantee you'll regret it."

Dean shut up and looked at his brother. They seemed to have some sort of silent conversation before Dean turned his head slightly and caught sight of Cas, who was standing more or less folded in on him self, shoulders hunched and head down. He sighed, looking a bit deflated himself. "Cas, I'm sorry. I –"

"No, It's I who should be sorry," Cas interrupted. "I misinterpreted your feelings. It's my mistake. I just hope we can move past this."

Everyone was starting to move away from the pair at this point, all feeling very voyeuristic in the whole scenario. "You didn't 'misinterpret' anything. I'm just an idiot, and I'm sorry," Dean said.

Cas stood there, confused, while everyone else milled about them in a loose circle, pretending (badly) that they weren't paying attention. He started to ask something else, but Dean grabbed him and kissed him. It was clear that he was saying something against the other man's mouth, but no one could quite hear _what_.

Whatever it was made Cas smile and that was enough for the voyeurs, who all took that moment to disperse, sensing that they would no longer be needed.

* * *

You busied yourself handing out little snacks and coffees, making small talk and giving sideways glances to the friends who'd been their earlier to help you out. With looks and pointed nods you pointed out the Thursday Group, as they'd started to refer to them (and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't adopted that name, too). It was a pleasant party; domestic, warm, and everything you'd dreamed of when you'd opened the shop.

* * *

Ten minutes 'till Dean was supposed to play, and he and Cas were sitting in a dark corner of the party with their heads together, talking quietly, their hands carefully intertwined. It was really a very sweet scene, but the party was getting into a swing and needed something other than the shitty Christmas music that you had playing over the speaker system. Even you were ready to brain someone if you had to listen to a grainy rendition of _Jingle Bell Rock_ one more time, and it was your CD.

"Hate to break this up, but it's time for your set," you announced, walking over to them.

They both looked up at you like they'd entirely forgotten other people even existed, which was entirely a possibility. Dean stood up, grabbed his guitar, and leaned back down to give Cas a kiss that was obviously supposed to be short and chaste. However, that wasn't quite the case as their kiss deepened to an embarrassing intensity in such a public place.

You cleared your throat awkwardly and Dean stood back up, looking slightly ruffled. Cas, at least, had the decency to look slightly awkward. From there, you practically dragged your musician out to the stage so that he didn't get deep into another liplock with his new boyfriend.

Once on stage, you introduced him and he pulled up a chair and set up the mic before doing a little bit of an introduction himself. For the next hour and a half, he played classic Christmas songs mixed with classic rock while the guests mingled. After that, he took a short break and you had to drag him away from Cas again for his second set.

* * *

People started going home before he was done the second set, telling you that they'd had a lovely time and that the musician was amazing. The praise made you feel warm and giddy.

The last to leave were the Thursday Group because they'd been waiting for Dean to pack up. You exchanged polite 'goodnight's with all of them, until Dean came up to you and grabbed you in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he whispered in your ear before releasing you. While you puzzled through that out-of-character display of affection, he walked over to Cas and took his guitar case from him while the rest of his friends just looked at you, dumbstruck. You shrugged in their general direction, showing that you had no idea what had caused that either.

A few moments later, they left, and you watched as the man known only as the Doctor and his friend rounded the corner, disappearing from sight, and the rest of them piled into the Impala.

And then they were gone.

* * *

**A/N: **Because I'm so nervous about this fic please leave me reviews! I'd like to know if people enjoy it. I'll continue the story whether or not you do though to be honest; I've been working on it too long to not.


	2. Suicide of a Fake Genius

It was mid-January before you saw them again. Understandable, really, when you thought about the fact that it was the holiday season and they must all have had someone to go spend time with. The Americans probably went back across the pond for a short break.

Even though you wouldn't admit it, even to yourself, you missed them a bit. Missed the late nights and early mornings and making countless cups of coffee, missed the random facts you learned and their strange relationships. You just missed them, and it had been less than a month.

Another thing you wouldn't admit was that you felt an immense sense of relief when you saw Sam walking into the coffee shop after Christmas. He looked tired and walked slightly hunched over, leading you to believe that you were right in assuming they had gone home for the holidays.

Jet-lag personified made his way up to the counter with a tired smile and said, "They're all outside. We're bringing John and Sherlock's coffee to them. I'm sure by now you know our orders."

You gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "Yeah, I do." And then you went about making the coffees, happy to be back in this routine. It was practically second nature to you, making this specific set of coffees. It was almost like a dance; you knew just when to move cups and how to fill things to do it as quickly as possible, and yet as precise as you could at the same time. "Thank you for the present, by the way," you said, handing him the paper drink holder and the extra coffee that didn't fit in it. You'd gotten a stack of the paper to-go things from a friend for Christmas and were seriously considering ordering them in bulk because they'd proven to be extremely useful.

He laughed a little awkwardly, taking the coffees from you. "That was mostly John's idea. We thought you'd like it."

"It's great; I really appreciate it. Have a few up on my 'specials' board." The present had been a book on '1001 Interesting Coffee Creations', which had also included a section on making little designs in the foam. You'd studied it during your days off, practising for hours. The book was now nearly filled with your hand writing, big 'NO's written on some pages, little alterations written on others. Of course, there were still some recipes you'd yet to try.

Sam turned his head to look at the colourful chalkboard on the wall behind you, looking at the section marked 'specials' in bright yellow paint. "We'll have to try some of them, some day," he remarked offhandedly. Then he made a vague gesture with the coffees in his hands. "Anyway, gotta get going. Have a nice day."

"You, too."

* * *

You were right back into the easy rhythm of their lives, always so intrigued by them and the mystery they presented. Dean and Cas seemed happier, now, standing even closer together than before (which you hadn't been sure would be possible, but apparently was) and were usually touching, if only holding hands. They obviously weren't much into PDA, which you understood; even in this day and age, people weren't as accepting as they should be. And even though you'd throw anyone out who'd say a word against it, it was also obvious that they just weren't the kinds of people who dotted on each other in public.

Winter faded into Spring in a blur of coffee and fragmented conversation. You brought out your Spring line of pastries, which included lemon cupcakes and flower-shaped cookies. The mystery that your Thursday Group brought with them never faded and you never got closer to an answer, though to be honest you never really tried very hard. You liked it, liked the challenge and the mystery, and never wanted it to go away.

* * *

The great Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, started to show up in papers, becoming known as the 'Reichenbach Hero'. You cut out the article and posted it on a free expanse of wall, starting the collage that would soon take up that space. John saw it when coming in for coffee the next morning and laughed, telling you how Sherlock wouldn't much appreciate seeing it there so it was lucky he didn't come in much. You just smiled as you made their coffees and told him that you were strangely proud, mentioning that you couldn't believe they'd been coming in for over a year.

"You know the saying; time flies..." he trailed off with a pensive smile. But it looked a bit tired to you, and after all this time you liked to think that you could tell when one of them was having an off day. You saw them when they thought no one was looking, after all. That was a perk of owning a coffee shop.

You leaned against the top of the pastry display, crossing your arms. "John, how are you, really?" you asked easily.

He sighed, looking a bit deflated. "It's been tougher than you'd think, becoming famous over night. It's hard to leave the flat without getting mobbed. We might not be 'round as much, but the others will. No one makes coffee quite like yours." That was followed by a smile that, though small, did reach his eyes, reassuring you that he would be fine.

"I'll see you when things die down, yeah?"

"Yeah. See you then."

* * *

John was right in predicting that you wouldn't see him and Sherlock around after that. You heard about them in the news, though, and continued to add to your growing wall of news clippings (there was a reason you still subscribed to the physical paper instead of switching to receiving it online). There was also all the others who came in and would tell you things that the paper didn't, like how they were doing holed up in Baker Street. You told them to pass on your well-wishes and a small bag of pastries, on the house, which you later found out were much appreciated and became a daily addition to the coffees.

You even saw more of the mysterious man called the Doctor and his wife/girlfriend/whatever, Rose. It seemed like they were replacing John and Sherlock so that the group would always remain an average of five people with two absentees.

As ever, Rose was fairly social and happy, but her eyes always tightened a little when she saw your newspaper collage or heard about what was happening in relation to Sherlock and John. Behind the cheerful exterior, she brought with her a sense of foreboding that got under your skin and made you feel _something_, some nameless thing, closing in.

* * *

Things were strained whenever they visit after that and there was a tension that hung thick in the air. It was in the smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes and the hallowed faces that spoke of sleepless nights. You did all that you could, all that you'd ever been able to do; make coffee. It was the only thing you had left. They cut down on their visits, too, so all of a sudden they're only visiting on Thursdays again. And your old favourite day became one you were practically dreading, not wanting to see the ever-present sadness in the eyes that used to shine.

Spring became Summer at a creeping pace, like sunlight disappearing at dusk, leaving you in darkness.

* * *

It came so suddenly that you could hardly believe it; it couldn't be true... could it? But there it was, splattered across the front page and on the TV like an infection, a disease. The face so familiar, despite you not having seen it much, under the headline that chills you to your very core, leaves you standing at your door in shock:

_Suicide of a Fake Genius_.

* * *

They didn't come in that week, and you definitely hadn't expect them to. But they came in the next week, on a Thursday, all dressed in funereal blacks and looking somber. You wordlessly started preparing their coffees, placing them on their table with a sad smile.

They drank them in silence and afterwards all went out and piled into the Impala. John stayed behind, though, and limped up to you.

"It was on the house," you stated simply, not giving him room to argue.

He just smiled at you sadly. "You know, he deduced everyone he met; even me. But not you. Never knew why. And he looked forward to your coffee, even though he'd never say it." He cleared his throat. "I just wanted to say thank you for being a part of the happiest time of my life." And then he pulled you into a tight hug, which you returned easily, and if when you pulled away his face was a little wet, you didn't say anything, because maybe yours was, too.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry but it had to happen. However, there is one more chapter! Please leave a review xx


	3. Your Right to Feel (All at Once)

**A/N: **So the thing here is that I have a sort of 'chapter two-point-five' and a 'chapter three' which I've decided to just put in the same chapter because it makes more sense.

* * *

Chapter Two-Point-Five: Your Right to Feel

You tore down the collage in a fit of _something_ – rage, hurt, confusion, things you shouldn't have been feeling, didn't have the _right _to feel – in the middle of the night right after his death. After their visit to the coffee shop on the day of his funereal, things continued as normal. Things continued on much _too_ normally. Like things had been before they'd come into your coffee shop and you _did not like it_.

Everything was quite, the spaces that once were filled with friendly smiles and laughter rested empty and hollow, echoing in their silence.

And there was nothing you could do because you _had no right_ to feel the way you did.

* * *

When you think about it in the abstract, three years is a long time. But when you experience, it is both so much longer and so much shorter. Everything can happen in three years, a whole life can be lived, but at the same time you can look back on something that feels like 'only yesterday' when in reality it was years passed.

As days turned to weeks turned to months in the time after the infamous suicide of a fake genius, your memory of the Thursday Group began to fade, their smiles and laughs blurred together until you could no long remember if it was Sam or Dean who was the nice one, and which of them was Cas?

It scared you at first, when you first realized you were losing them for good. Exactly three months and four days since you'd seen them last, you were making coffee, and it hit you that you couldn't quite pull up from memory any of their faces. You dropped the full mug of steaming coffee that you'd been holding and it shattered at your feet, splashing your bare shins with the boiling liquid.

You had to close up shop right after that, after reimbursing the costumer and apologizing profusely, to tend to your admittedly only first-degree burns.

* * *

And then suddenly it wasn't so distressing anymore, as you started to lose complete grip on all that they'd been, all that they'd made you.

* * *

Chapter Three: (All At Once)

It was Thursday night and you were closing up, which was fitting, really. The sign was flipped from 'open' to 'closed' and you were just wiping down the counters, the only thing keeping you from falling asleep at one of the tables was the thought of a nice, warm bed, filled with a nice, warm body, and that it would be for the foreseeable future. You smiled to yourself at that thought, even though it wasn't a particularly new development.

Regardless, it was eleven o'clock on a Thursday night and there was a knock at the door.

"We're closed!" you called out, tossing the rag you'd been using over your shoulder and heading into the back.

The knocking turned into a pounding and you sighed, lobbing the rag into the sink and returning to the main area of the cafe. It was too dark to see who was outside, so you just unlocked and wrenched open the door. "I'm sorry, but we're closed," you told them shortly, going to close the door. But a hand stopped it.

"Are you ever closed for us?" asked an achingly familiar voice, and in response you strained your eyes into the darkness to see an equally familiar face. Behind him, there were others, and though you couldn't see how many or who they were, you had a good guess.

A million emotions swept through you at once: shock, anger, regret, and a strange sense that things were _right_ again. "No," you said, voice stronger than you felt and a smile creeping onto your face inch by inch. "No, I'm not."

Suddenly, there was a pair of strong arms around you and laughter in your ear, and you couldn't help but join in. Then you were passed to another pair of arms, belonging to someone taller so out of necessity you were lifted off the ground just a little (your toes where still touching, but that was about all). The third pair to embrace you was significantly more hesitant, but just as warm, and at least the belonged to someone of a normal, human height and you could keep your feet firmly where they belonged; on the ground.

When you pulled away, all four of you looked at each other, smiling, and you tried not to act disappointed that it was just them. But Sam, Dean, and Cas were more than you'd thought you'd ever see again, so you were grateful nonetheless.

"What brings you here in the middle of the night?" you asked, genuinely curious and wanting to break the slight tension caused by years of distance.

They all glanced at each other for a second, and had what looked like a silent debate, before Sam caved and answered you. "We thought it'd be best to come here, considering everything that's happened."

Your brows pulled together in confusion. "What's happened?"

"What do you mean 'what's happened'? Didn't you hear?" Sam asked.

You just shook your head.

"Maybe it just hasn't reached the media yet," Cas suggested, and Dean made a face that suggested he agreed.

"_What_?" you asked insistently when it became clear that no one was going to elaborate, curious to know what it was they'd thought you already knew. But then there were more people crashing into your shop, bringing with them loud, friendly laughter.

"They'll be here in a second," one of your new arrivals, a woman, said. And you recognized them, too, after a moment. The man known only as the Doctor and Rose.

So many people showing up in your shop that you never thought you'd see again. It would be perfect, really, if it wasn't eleven thirty and you weren't just getting off work.

Amidst all this sudden chaos of old, familiar faces and laughter, you just stood there in the eye of the storm. Everything twirling all around you, but you were calm. "Who are 'they'?" you asked.

"John and Sherlock, of course," the Doctor answered cheerfully.

Your expression of confusion returned in full force. "Sherlock died three years ago," you stated. It was all very confusing. Because they must have known that; they'd actually been in your shop the day of the funereal. Hell, they'd been in your shop _the morning that he killed himself_.

Rose looked at you and the confusion etched on her face was of a different variety of yours. Where yours was general, hers was searching. "You don't know?"

"Know _what_?" you asked, exasperated, and suddenly it didn't matter because sure enough John came walking into the shop with a real smile on his face and the apparently-not-dead genius, Sherlock Holmes, in tow.

* * *

They didn't give you any explanations, but you didn't ask for any; didn't really want to know. Because you knew that if everything was explained it would all shatter and this would all have only been a crazy dream. You ended up getting home at one in the morning, crawling into bed with your lover, trying not to wake them.

"I tried to wait up," they grumbled, and you laughed quietly before answering.

"I met up with some old friends. I'll tell you about it in the morning."

* * *

**A/N: **I know it's short and I know I said it'd be longer. However, this is the end! I was wondering, though, if you wanted an Epilogue? If no one weighs in on 'Epilogue Y/N' by June 1st I'll mark this document complete and that will be that.

Also, I'll be posting drabbles set in this 'verse in a separate story document. If there's anything that happens that I mention in the story that you want to see more of/hear the whole story then feel free to drop me a line and I'll write it.

If this is the end of the road for this document, then I want you to know that you're all great and your reviews really helped me write this faster!


	4. Epilogue: In The Morning Light

**A/N: **THE EPILOGUE! This is it folks, that's why it's so short. There WILL BE MORE IN THIS 'VERSE. But it won't be in this story document. People Watching, as a stand-alone fic, has now come to its close. I mean to mention this before, but I actually run a SuperWhoLock ask blog on tumblr called superwholock-answers just so you all know. Also, if someone made a picspam edit thing for this story I would love them forever. I've wanted to since I started writing but I don't know how. Anyway, please review this and tell me what you thought of this fic over all!

* * *

When you woke up, you were alone, though the sheets still smelt of them and there was a nice, lingering warmth, but cool air was quickly seeping in and making lazing about less enjoyable every second. Eventually, it was uncomfortable to stay there any longer, and with the smell of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen, who were you to argue with that?

You padded into the kitchen sleepily and found them at the stove, making what smelt like pancakes. They turned their head slightly when they heard you and smiled when your eyes met. "Good morning!" they said, all too cheerful for six in the morning.

A sleepy grin slid onto your face as they turned back to their work and you walked over and slid your arms around their waste, pressing your lips to the side of their neck. "Good morning," you murmured into the space where their neck met their shoulder, breathing them in.

* * *

You ate sitting at the little secondhand table in the kitchen with them sitting right beside you so your sides were pressed together.

"It's morning," they said between mouthfuls. "You said you'd tell me who you were out so late talking to in the morning."

A realization washed over you and you couldn't help but laugh. "Were you _jealous_?"

They flushed and looked away, choosing not to answer, so you turned your head and kissed their cheek, reaching up to turn their head so that they were facing you.

"There's no need to," you said quietly, pressing your lips to theirs.

"I know that," they muttered indignantly. "But I'm curious, so tell me what happened."

So you did. You told them everything; starting with one Doctor John Watson limping into your coffee shop on a cold and rainy morning.

* * *

By seven, you were in the shop, opening everything. They were in to help you that morning, which you greatly appreciated. It was partially because they wanted to meet the old friends you'd told them about over breakfast, but you also liked to think that they actually enjoyed working with you.

You'd hardly arrived when the Thursday Group showed up, and so you let them in despite not yet being open.

There was a lot of mindless small talk and banter being tossed around the room from all directions as you made the coffees, and you were amazed that you still remembered the order after all these years.

* * *

You were amazed at how quickly you fell back into the old routine of early mornings and late nights and letting people in when you weren't technically open. You slipped into it like an old pair of shoes that somehow, miraculously, still fit. Even your partner fell into the routine easily, taking your cues on how to deal with the group when they needed to be in and out quickly, and when they spent the entire day huddled in a corner of your shop.

It wasn't back to normal, and you weren't sure it would ever be the way it was before, but it was better than it had been, in a way. Now, the novelty of something new and exciting had worn off, and it had grown to something warm and familiar. And you couldn't be happier.


End file.
